Lost and Found
by Lynn Saunders
Summary: Seek and ye shall find. First Place Winner, The Caryl Daily Affection Challenge, July 2014.


Lost and Found

by Lynn Saunders

* * *

The moon, white in the lingering daylight, rises above the tree line like an omen. Gravel crunches under Carol's boot heel as evening approaches, and she buttons her jacket against the creeping chill of autumn. This is not the season she remembers, crisp air and the sweet smell of falling leaves. Now even the trees seem undead, their once-brilliant leaves dried and sagging to the ground, the smell of death all around.

Beside her, Tyreese's hulking shadow fades as the sun slips into the west. She knows they have traveled a dangerously long distance today, pushing past late afternoon in a hurry to reach their destination. Now they must make camp without much cover.

"Time to stop now," he says. She nods, almost imperceptibly.

He settles Judith into a hollow between two pine trees. The child blinks up at him, and Carol tries not to worry about the baby's silence, preferring to believe that on some level Judith understands the need to keep quiet, hoping she has not been damaged by what she has seen already.

They lean against each other as darkness falls, Tyreese closing his eyes with a sigh. She palms her knife and dutifully stares off into the starry night. They do not speak.

* * *

Stars swirl above the prison yard on a clear night in early spring, their impossible numbers no longer a surprise since the world went dark. When Sophia turned 9, Carol bought her a book of constellations from a yard sale, but they couldn't see many stars from the roof of their apartment building on the south side of the city. Now she numbers the points of light with Mika from the concrete pad where prisoners once walked, the cement tattooed with colorful chalk roses, still warm from the afternoon sunshine.

Daryl perches on the catwalk like a raptor, eagle-eyed in the night, keeping watch above them. He notes her smile, Mika's head nestled in the crook of her arm as they outline the deities above. He watches her carefully in the starlight, the curve of her neck, her now-prominent collarbones, eyes relaxed and far away from the sorrow she knew so recently. He wants to keep her this way, warm and safe on a spring night, once again mapping the stars with her daughter.

He stays until the little girl's father calls her in for the night, watching until Carol disappears into the light of the prison door. He stands and descends the stairs into the yard, heading to his bunk, until something crunches underfoot. Bending, he carefully picks up the pieces of a gold-rimmed watch, the leather band now detached from the face on one side, glinting in the moonlight.

* * *

She blinks awake near dawn. Tyreese is mixing baby formula with water from her supplies.

"We're running low," he says, gently shaking the canteen to measure its weight.

She rummages in her bag and removes a handful of shelled pecans, offering them to him. "Breakfast."

He nods. "We have to be close. They'll give us water, take us in." We can start over again, he thinks.

She stands wearily, gathering her pack.

* * *

Daryl does not find her in the library as he expects. She's been talking about reading to the kids, and she spends many evenings searching for appropriate material, a difficult task in a library designed for adults. A modest number of children's books lie neatly on the corner of the reading table. He thumbs the cover of the first, Jon and the Little Lost Lamb. A note scrawled inside the cover reads, "seek and ye shall find."

He wanders the halls, but sees no sign of her. Resigned, he rounds the corner into the cell block, finding most of the privacy curtains drawn for the night. Candle light flickers from her cell, inviting him to enter. The room is empty, but warm from her oil lamp and impossibly neat. He recognizes her clothing folded on the bed, boots toeing the line under her bunk. His fingertips trace her belt buckle, smooth and cool to the touch. He places the broken watch on her pillow and turns to leave just as she pads in barefoot, wrapped in a towel, and begins to draw the curtain.

He clears his throat and she jumps, almost losing her towel, turning to find him shifting nervously from side to side. It occurs to him only now that he is invading her private space.

"I was... lookin' for ya," he stammers.

"You found me," she says. He is relieved when she relaxes into a smile, eyes warm and welcoming.

Her hair is damp from her shower, and she runs her fingers through the frosty spikes, drops of water falling onto her shoulders and disappearing into the furrow between her breasts. He swallows hard.

She adjusts her towel, unsure of what to say.

He knows he should go, but he can't quite get his feet moving. His eyes betray his uncertainty, but underneath she sees a hint of something darker, incendiary and intriguing.

He becomes aware that he is staring and shakes his head, stepping forward. His fingers come to rest at her delicate waist, steadying her as he moves past in the cramped space, but his eyes don't leave hers. He pauses as her fingers curl around his wrist. "You could stay," she says quietly, looking down.

"What, you wanna fool around or somethin'?" He tucks a piece of hair behind her ear without thinking, tilting her chin up gently so that her eyes meet his. "Keep sayin' things like that, you might be sorry."

"Stay," she whispers, allowing the curtain to fall closed behind them in the lamplight.

* * *

Their formation is habit now. Carol walks softly, pushing forward into the gray mist of the fall morning, Tyreese carrying Judith in her pack four steps behind. She enjoys the lead, dispatching walkers quickly with her knife. And always, secretly, she scans the forest for signs of Daryl, the snick and whir of a firing crossbow, a flash of angel wings between the tree trunks.

The next Terminus sign comes into view just as she hears the pop of gunfire in the distance. She pauses, looking back at him warily.

"I hear it too," he whispers.

A low groan echoes from the woods to their right, the walker stumbling onto the tracks. Carol advances and eliminates the target with practiced ease, realizing only then that a wave of the undead has awakened, drawn by the steady beat of artillery.

Quickly, she hustles Tyreese and the baby behind the upturned roots of an ancient tree stump while dozens of walkers stream slowly by. She blinks away a vision of the highway and Sophia's large eyes, her palpable terror, her last memory.

* * *

How can Daryl make her forget herself in this way? She gives in to his hypnotic pull, the indescribable something between them.

His fingertips trace a line from her beautiful neck to her breastbone as he carefully backs her up against the cell wall. He notes the smudges his hands leave on her porcelain skin. "I'm gonna get you dirty."

"It's okay," she laughs. "I like it."

"Yeah?" His rough fingers creep up her thigh, parting the edges of her towel, where he's surprised to find the cold steel of her knife, holstered against her bare skin, dangerous.

"You got any idea what you do to me?"

Her fingers move to the buttons of his shirt tentatively, opening them one at a time, his chest solid and warm beneath her fingers. She slides her hands up to his shoulders as he removes his vest and shirt in one motion, pulling her near. His stubble brushes across her cheek, sending sparks radiating down her spine. He buries his face in her hair and holds her, breathing in her clean scent. She sighs in pleasure at the feel of him against her, alive and real and impossibly close.

After Daryl found her in the depths of the prison, he crawled into the bunk beside her and held her until she slept. Tonight he eases her back onto the mattress as she lets her towel slip to the floor. He wants to show her how alive she really is, beautiful and substantial, everything he feels but can't put into words.

The flickering glow from the oil lamp paints their slick bodies as they rise and fall in the rickety prison bunk, finding a familiar rhythm, marching toward the inevitable together.

* * *

Daryl grimaces and touches the dried blood at his temple. The group moves through the forest with purpose, leaving the carnage of Terminus behind. A singular thought blooms and propels him forward. If everyone here made it, did she? He has no idea where to go from here. So, he walks.

With the sickening crack of undead bone, a walker crashes into the leaves ahead, revealing a petite figure, outlined against the horizon like a mirage. He starts running before he realizes what he's doing, slowing as he approaches, extending a hand to touch her face, to ensure she's real.

"You found me," he says into her silver hair as she pulls him close, grasping the wings on his vest as if she fears he might disappear again. She buries her face against his chest and remembers what it feels like to breathe, the sensation of belonging to someone, yet somehow free.

* * *

An end.

Author's Notes: Caryl. Spoilers through Season 4 finale, which in my mind occurs in the fall. Rated PG-13 for non-graphic RST. Beta by subversivegrrl. First Place Winner, The Caryl Daily Affection Challenge, July 2014.

Disclaimer: Oops, sorry, not mine. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


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